The Wandering City
A neutral meeting place deep in the fey realm, where denizens of the four courts and unaligned beings can meet and trade secrets and rare items in relative safety. It floats among the clouds in an in-between space that is not quite anywhere, but has connections to everywhere, in the fey realm and the real world. There is no known ruler or formalised government. Security is entirely automated - if any kind of fight breaks out, lethal automata are deployed from hidden recesses in the walls and floors to quickly pacify the offending groups. Otherwise, laws are non-existent. Settlement is found wherever it can, and the city continues to sprawl outward in increasingly ramshackle and ungainly fashion, though most choose not to make it their home. Trade is entirely unregulated, and there is no taxation, but in turn theft and swindling is commonplace. Safety cannot be guaranteed, either from the residents' scheming or the somewhat unsteady foundations of the city itself. There is no real order or reason to the layout of the city, at least in terms of districts. Produce markets stand shoulder to shoulder with artifact emporiums and fighting pits, elegant palaces and rundown slums spread into one another like mould, and representatives from half a hundred mortal races intermingle with faries, monsters and demigods. The architecture shows styles from dozens of cultures from across the millennia, yet the age of any given structure cannot be determined with any accuracy. The streets are constantly filled with mist as the city continues its aimless journey through the clouds, and the senses are relentlessly assaulted with sounds, sights and smells never encountered before in the mortal world. The city attracts birds of all kinds in their thousands. Hundreds of generations in the fey realm have turned them into bloodthirsty killers, more alike to predatory fish than birds. Mostly they will hunt by themselves, but if attracted with bait they will swarm. The Palace of Infinite Doorways Presided over by a Marid calling himself Oarweed, the Palace is actually an empty old ruin, with a passage into an infinite dimension of doorways. Only Oarweed knows all the ways, and he has never explored for more than a few days in any direction. He will accompany anyone who asks to anywhere they wish, provided they offer him something of personal value. The Archivist The Archivist is the most unassuming person in the city. His den is located in a collapsed recess under a brewery, covered by a ragged sheet and accessed only by crawling. In this dank and dripping den sits a wizened moss-covered shape, his face crumpled with the age of centuries and concealed with a heavy cloak. Yet in this place is a treasure beyond price, a book that can recall any piece of information from past, present and future, or any possible version of those. Unfortunately the book is unclear, and the Archivist more than a little unhinged, but glimmers of truth may be determined that cannot be gleaned from any other source.